First, Last, and Always
by TrenchcoatsAreSexy
Summary: Norma and the births of her three children.


**Dedicated to my friend and awesome writer blackwidow73! Thank you for letting me borrow some headcanon awesomeness :D**

 **A/N: This is somewhat of a prequel/tie-in to The Art of Letting Go. Enjoy!**

 **First, Last, and Always**

She's got John Massett's hand wrapped in hers as she clings and yells. Maybe this is supposed to be terrifying – but if it is, she's not sure why anyone does it, why the human race hasn't completely died out.

She knows this much – this baby will be her first and last.

"Oh-God," she gasps out, breath hitching as she wonders how she'll even make it through this. That's a better thing to think about rather than worrying about what comes next. She thinks back to the ultra-sound, trying to console herself that her baby didn't seem to have two heads or flippers or a tail – but can they tell, for sure? What if something's horribly wrong and they can all figure it out? What if they take her baby away or worse?

She's not sure what "worse" is, but she doesn't want to know, either.

Norma tilts her head up a little to look into her husband's eyes. She'll have to get used to saying that – husband, this is John Massett, he's my husband and I'm Norma Massett, I'm his wife.

And this is Dylan, our son. Ours.

Something feels wrong about putting all her trust in this man – well, boy, really, he's only seventeen – that she's known for less than a year.

More wrong, still, is that when she shuts her eyes for just a second to try and catch her breath, she lets herself wish that it was Caleb here holding her hand.

She's never been this far from him for this long. He'd been the one to comfort her against all the scary things, until he became the scary thing. And even still –

She hates her fear of him and she hates him and she hates all of it. If she could erase her memory of the past three years, she would, to bring it back to the way it had been.

"Norma, it's all right – you're going to be okay, just push."

She offers John what she hopes is a brave smile and pushes all the rest away.

She will never see Caleb again, and it is a relief.

A relief and a loss and an ache.

The next thing she knows she's holding a tiny, fragile baby boy in her arms, letting him lay on her chest and checking him over for everything, anything wrong.

Dylan John Massett has ten perfect fingers, ten perfect toes, and Caleb's eyes.

* * *

"Sam?" Norma calls out again, wondering where the hell her husband could have gotten to in the course of thirty seconds.

She's hearing little bits and pieces about an emergency C-section, but she isn't really comprehending. And where the hell is Sam? He had taken hours to get home from work (at least he'd said it was work) and she and Dylan had been left to wait on the couch as she scratched her nails up and down the scar on her leg, ripped open old scabs and cried out in panic as Dylan held her hand and whispered comfort.

Sam is supposed to be here, or maybe he's supposed to be watching Dylan, but Norma knows he's not doing either and she wants to scream. She's not supposed to be alone while they're talking about cutting her open. She's not supposed to be alone.

"Mrs. Bates, we're going to numb you now."

Norma nods, and she shuts her eyes, doesn't want to see.

Norman spends the first two weeks in an incubator, and she peeks at him from behind a wall. The first time she's allowed to hold him, she starts crying and can't stop.

"We'll never be apart this long again," she promises the tiny child in her arms. He needs her, she knows. He needs her and always will.

She feels something pulling on her sleeve and looks down at Dylan.

"Mommy?"

"This is your little brother. This is Norman."

She feels like she and Norman are far away, and she's not sure who she sees when she looks down. He has Caleb's eyes, his hair, his face.

* * *

"Norma, it's all right. You're going to be just fine. Just push, you can do it."

Norma has her hand wrapped around Alex Romero's.

She's sweating and she's wondering how she let herself get in this position again. Oh, yes, the pretty eyed Sheriff who had made her feel hope again, had smiled at her and kissed her and fought with her and dipped to one knee to put a diamond ring on her finger, who had made a child with her.

"Don't go anywhere," she pleads, and hates the sound of it, hates the idea of being weak ever again. She remembers blackmailing Bob Paris, forgiving Caleb, stabbing Keith Summers.

She's had to be strong; that was the only choice.

Now, she hooks one leg to the side, pushes her head back, and hangs on for dear life.

Iris Louise Romero is tiny and perfect and already has a full head of black hair. When they take her to be checked out, Norma squeezes Alex's hand one last time and falls into a blissful sleep.

She opens her eyes slowly and isn't sure if she's dreaming or not when a door opens. She hears a voice before her, drifting and comforting. Quiet.

"Congratulations, Norma Louise."

When she wakes the next morning, a bundle of lupins sits on the desk beside her. She scoots up against the bed with a wince, picks them up and inhales.

She feels safer than she has in a long time.


End file.
